Forged
by Elle452
Summary: One shot during "It's a Terrible Life" and Dean's thoughts.


**Disclaimer- **All recognized characters and references belong to Kripke and Co.

A/N - Little tag to _It's a Terrible Life _which was a brilliant episode! Please let me know what you think.

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**Forged**

When Dean Winchester was four and half years old, his life changed forever. A boy became a soldier as flames licked the night sky, burning away his home and his mother. He became a hunter. Even if he didn't realize it fully at that moment he was forged in that fire - a new man.

Some years later, after his father had died and his brother was resurrected, Dean met a new fire that burned at his soul until it was charred and misshapen. Nothing like it once was. It was darker, scarred and nearly shattered beyond repair. Until a hand was laid upon his shoulder and raised him up. Too late to stop what had already begun.

Zachariah stood before him now, talking about destiny, classic cars and fornication. Was he right? Was this truly the path he was meant to walk? He didn't ask for it. He didn't want to be some helpless puppet or plaything for the fates to amuse themselves. He was tired. He wanted to rest. Exhaustion was all Dean knew these days.

Except today.

The three amnesiac weeks of labour un-intensive paperwork, spinach salad, detox tonics and untainted sleep had rejuvenated his body and for the first time since he came back from Hell, Dean could think clearly.

Memories came unbidden of a time not so long ago when all he wanted was to live, to be with his family. He'd told Tessa a few short weeks ago that he wished he'd gone with her. But did he? She'd laid her lips upon his and returned the memories of a far-ago time when he'd wanted nothing more than to return to his family and hunt the demon that murdered his mother. What was it she'd said to him then?

_Whatever's going to happen is going to happen. It's out of my control; it's just fate._

And here it was again, Fate, the bitch, staring at him, accusatory and demanding. He remembered what he'd said then too, in all his righteous fight,

_That's crap. You always have a choice. You can either roll over and die or you can keep fighting, no matter what._

And dammit if Dean hadn't believed that with every fibre of his being. When did he lose that? Dean wondered.

Over a year ago, Dean had stood with Sam, fighting to save some feds and a virgin with all the same fight and righteousness he'd possessed as a ghost haunting the hospital halls. Dean thought of Victor Hendrickson, all those months ago, when realization finally dawned on him and he stood up against the darkness. He'd died for it, in the end. Hendrickson had moved more than the dirt it took to bury him. Or at least he tried. Because he'd been pulled into the fold through no desire of his own, just like Dean had been when he was four years old, and someone had handed him a shotgun and some rock salt. Dean had handed it to Hendrickson. The agent had looked at him then, asking if Dean thought they could win against the hoards of demons coating the Earth. Dean remembered what he'd said then too.

_"I think the world's gonna end bloody. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. We do have choices. I choose to go down swinging."_

Zachariah was right, being a hunter was in his blood. Hadn't he witnessed it for himself? How many generations before him, before his mother or even his grandfather had been hunters? This wasn't about a yellow-eyed demon or a raging fire or even redemption. For the first time since Castiel raised him, the shroud of pain and remorse gave way to clarity.

_It doesn't mean we shouldn't fight._

Nobody asked for this life. Nobody wanted it. Even knowing what they knew, even when they could see it coming, Dean knew they weren't really ready for the big moments. He hadn't been ready for Hell, for his Dad to die, for Sammy to outgrow him. It wasn't about being ready. It's what you do when they happen, in the aftermath, that counts. That, Dean knew, was when you knew who you were. Was he helpless? A puppet? He didn't want to be a puppet, Fate's bitch. He was the son of John and Mary Winchester. Brother of Sam Winchester.

"_You're a hunter. Not because your dad made you. Not because God called you back from Hell but because it is what you are and you love it. You find your way to it in the dark every single time and you're miserable without it. "_

He was Dean Winchester. Survivor. Fighter. Hunter.

"_You want to go steam yourself another latte, or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?"_

And Dean Winchester was nobody's bitch.


End file.
